


Path to Trace

by eak_a_mouse



Category: Dredd (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:00:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eak_a_mouse/pseuds/eak_a_mouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dredd has been avoiding Anderson and she doesn't know why. She won't let it go, but that doesn't guarantee she'll like the answer she gets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Path to Trace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TadpoleGlee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TadpoleGlee/gifts).



The after action report is startling short for their time spent in the Peach Trees under MaMa’s control. Particularly after an altercation that left how many dead? She doesn’t know, incapable of giving these people even a number, a remembrance of any kind. Knowing the towers, the bodies have probably already been stripped and incinerated. Only the other judges will be left untouched. 

Judges take care of their own.

Even these.

Cassandra can still see the expression of surprise on the female judge’s face. Did they send her after Cassandra because they thought Cassandra would trust her more? If so, that’s a rather odd view of the type of women who sign up for the Judges. The kind of women who pass their test. There is no room for camaraderie in these ranks. 

Then again, not every proctor of a ride-along would have followed in Dredd’s bootprints. Judges are supposed to be impartial even to each other; helmet hiding identity and expression and everything human for a reason. Still, some have gained a reputation. Dredd is one of those. It’s not that he bends the rules, no, never. It’s that he’s fiercely loyal to the judges he trusts and what the judges are meant to represent. It’s all written there in his mind, in the thick connections he draws between himself and the chief, the firm lines between wrong and right. 

So she’d expected something more than this cold shoulder. Maybe it’s foolish, but he was her mentor, who she wanted to be, and he saved her life and he saved hers. Shouldn’t that count for something?

Instead, it’s like he’s been avoiding her. However often their schedules overlap, all she’s seen of him is the back of his shoulders as he hightails it out of HQ. The individual patrols she’s taken in the week since being promoted to judge have been boring after the ride-along excitement. Three arrests and none killed while resisting so far. Although that doesn't mean she hasn't shot her gun. 

Today, she's setting an ambush. She’s been waiting by the corridor to the Chief’s office, her report in hand. He has to come this way. There’s a long enough wait that she starts to feel pressured by the curious stares headed her way. There’s something worse about hearing and not just seeing what other people are thinking of her. Particularly when she doesn’t have the anonymity of a mask or quite the thing Dredd does with his mouth that firmly keeps people back. 

The one he’s wearing now. 

She falls in three steps behind him, falling easily into the same cadence. There’s a half-second hesitation between Dredd’s step and the next as their steps echo together. Still, he refuses to acknowledge her presence with either word or gesture. 

The process of turning in paperwork is astoundingly simplistic. There's no need to prove that any shots were absolutely necessary or morally justified. 

Judge. Jury. Executioner. 

"Judge Dredd. Judge Anderson," the Chief greets them both as they come to parade rest. "I'm assuming you've come with your reports."

Both Casandra and Dredd place flimsies of their reports on her desk. Digital files around here would only take you so far when the clan techies get cleverer every year. 

"Thank you, Judges."

Both she and Dredd take that as the dismissal it's meant to be, both turning on their heels with a sharp nod. 

"Oh, and Judge Anderson?" The chief asked. 

"Sir?"

"I don't believe I've properly congratulated you," she says mildly. "Congratulations."  
___

Cassandra is surprised to see Dredd waiting for her in the corridor. "Surprised to see me?" He asks drily. 

"Thought you were avoiding me." 

There's something slippery about his thoughts. Something that avoids getting pinned down. Not that she's supposed to be looking, not in other judges' brains anyway. Even if there really is no off switch. 

"Hardly. Don't expect preferential treatment here."

She refuses to be cowed, staring back toward where his eyes should be. It's as their stares hold for an uncomfortably long moment that she catches even the most fleeting of glimpses. 

There's the feel of hard floor beneath his- her- knees, and soft pressure against their eyes. Their hands are flat on their knees and she instinctively knows that she is not to move them. Then there's a hand beneath their chin, soft feminine, and it's her voice that speaks, "Are you with me?" 

But it's not like she's ever heard her voice, somehow it's oddly both authoritative and fond, detached and immediate, and it's just what they need. The need is visceral and yet clarifying. Like this one moment can hang suspend until she gives the word. There’s no morality here; there are no burdens, but ones that can be shouldered. No pain unless they ask for it, needs it to calm the itching beneath their skin.

"Anderson!" Dredd's voice brings her out of it, to the feel of his hands on her shoulders. She's not sure if she wants to push him away or let him take her weight. 

She pulls away regardless. 

"What the hell was that?" Dredd demands. 

"I think it's what you were-" She cuts off before she finishes damning herself. _It’s what you were thinking, what you were feeling, what you were fantasizing and what you were wishing you could have._

Dredd's face, what she can see of it visibly blanks instantaneously. She can't read him. Whether it's embarrassment at getting caught in a fantasy or denial or something else, she doesn't know. 

She does know she's interested. And also that she's unsure how to express "I'd like to see you on your knees for me" out loud. 

Apparently though, she doesn't have to. 

"You would like that," Dredd states, no question in his voice. 

She only nods in reply, not sure if she would be capable of stringing together any sensible thoughts. Much less translate thoughts to sentences. 

“Then let me warn you,” he says firmly.

His hand is warm on her shoulder through gloves and armor plating and far too many layers. 

“This is an indulgence, Judge Anderson, “ he continues. “No matter what else you do here, you protect your weak points, you don’t do anything so foolish as letting yourself be weak.” 

His hand dropped between them, a cold bit of finality. Just as he finishes, “Not for any man or any woman.”

Then he walks off like there was nothing different between them. 

And she was right all along. There is no camaraderie here, no trust to be had, no weaknesses shared to turn to strength. There is only them and justice and the rest of the damn world. 

And there will always be work to be done.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Oblivion by Bastille. Hope you have a Happy Yuletide!


End file.
